


Feel Good

by mediumrarechicken



Category: SHINee
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Porn With Plot, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 20:33:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19471669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediumrarechicken/pseuds/mediumrarechicken
Summary: Minho shifts around now at the mention of how he acts when he’s wanking; it feels like Taemin’s watched him instead of just heard him, like he knows exactly what Minho does when he’s touching himself. He thinks for a minute before responding, eventually joking, “Never getting off again.”“It’s hot,” Taemin repeats, more blatantly this time. “Like when you— you’ll gasp, sometimes. Like you can’t help it.”





	Feel Good

“I swear to god I could hear him groaning straight through the walls,” Minho says, earphones in, phone resting hot on his belly.

Taemin’s agrees through breathless giggles on the other line, “He’s bloody loud.”

“It’s fucking ridiculous. Glad he’s stopped bunking with us, honestly."

“He’s just as loud wanking, isn’t he?” Taemin asks, still pushing out little laughs every few breaths. “I can still, like, hear it in my head. Oh my god.”

“Passionate lover, our Jjong,” Minho says. It sends Taemin into another bout of laughter, and Minho has to stifle a few laughs himself at how amused Taemin is, overtired so late into the night.

“Jeez',” Taemin eventually exhales, sighing like it’s tired him out. “You’d think he’d’ve learned to keep it quiet by now.”

“He grew up with a sister as well! There’s no way he wanked so freely at home. Do you think he shags someone as loud as possible to, like... rebel against his quiet childhood wanks?”

“Text him that.”

“Alright,” Minho says. He does, pulling up his messages and reciting word for word as he types to Jonghyun, “Do you... fuck people very loudly... to make up for quiet childhood wanks... ?”

“Eloquent,” Taemin says proudly.

“I take pride in my stealthy masturbation,” Minho says. “He should be ashamed of himself.”

“You’re not that quiet, hyung,” Taemin says.

“Excuse me,” Minho replies.

“Think I probably know every time you rub one out.”

“Impossible.”

“You did last night,” Taemin says, and Minho feels his face heat up immediately. He can’t think of something to say quickly enough, so Taemin continues, “You’re not as bad as Jjong, though.”

“That’s only slightly reassuring,” Minho winces.

“Nah, it’s a bit hot,” Taemin says, casual as anything. “You just, like... pant. Breathe harder.”

“And you can hear that?” Minho asks, cutting him off before Taemin can answer, “Oh god, shut up.”

“You literally do it right above me, like, a foot away in the bunks.”

“I've never heard you!”

“Usually got my face in a pillow,” Taemin replies. Minho can hear the shrug in his voice.

“Obviously I’ll have to keep that in mind for next time,” Minho says.

“Wouldn’t matter much. You can’t keep still, either, anyway. You’re shifting, like, squirming around the whole time.”

Minho shifts around now at the mention of how he acts when he’s wanking; it feels like Taemin’s watched him instead of just heard him, like he knows exactly what Minho does when he’s touching himself. He thinks for a minute before responding, eventually joking, “Never getting off again.”

“It’s hot,” Taemin repeats, more blatantly this time. “Like when you— you’ll gasp, sometimes. Like you can’t help it.”

There’s a jolt that goes through Minho’s belly at that. He hesitates too long to reply, so Taemin carries on, “Must be good for you, yeah?”

“Wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t,” Minho says, running his fingertips along the strongly stitched seams of his duvet to occupy his hands.

After a moment, Taemin asks, “What is it you do?”

“Uh,” Minho says, laughing a little to diffuse the tension and ignore his swelling dick, “Besides…? I mean, you want specifics?”

“Could use a few tips, hyung,” Taemin says. There’s a smirk hidden in his tone.

Minho swallows. There are specifics, really. Specifics like how some days he’ll pinch and tug at his nipples to get them sore before even pulling his cock out, or how some days he’ll get himself to the edge over and over until he can’t take it anymore, or how every few months there’ll be a day where he needs to lie facedown in bed and work a few fingers inside himself, grinding into the pillow beneath his hips.

Eventually, he says, “My tip is to use more lube.”

Taemin hums on the other line, considering. “When the bus was stopped once, like, without the engines running I could even hear that. Wet like you’re fucking a girl.”

“Jesus,” Minho shivers, covering his face as if Taemin can see him flushing. “Did you not think to mention how loud all this was before right now?”

“Maybe I liked listening,” Taemin says; his voice holds that smirk again, teasing.

“You’re terrible,” Minho says, trying for chastising.

“You sound good, hyung” Taemin counters, “especially when you come.”

Minho’s dick jumps in his pyjamas, searching out friction. He’s quiet until he’s sure the silence is becoming unbearable, running through potential replies in his head, until he finally mumbles, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Taemin affirms. “You whine sometimes...” After a pause, he adds, “Gets me hard.”

“God,” Minho breathes out, pushing the mic away from his mouth a bit, conscious of his quick breathing.

“Still not that loud, hyung. Not as loud as I’d like,” Taemin murmurs, lower, following the shift in mood and matching it with his tone.

“Shut up,” Minho repeats weakly, embarrassed by how red he’s gone and how hard he’s gotten, fingernails digging into the soft, overstuffed duvet.

Taemin doesn’t shut up. “I’d like to hear you proper,” he says, shuffling around in his own bed, two doors down from Minho. “Let you make some real noise, yeah? Bet you’d be loud if you could.”

“Never thought much of it,” Minho admits. His dick is pulsing faintly with every rapid heartbeat, practically demanding touch, but he only lets himself drag his fingertips along his stomach, stopping before they dip into his waistband.

“Maybe you haven’t been fucked quite well enough, yet, then,” Taemin says assuredly, breathing out a long sigh. The sound sends goosebumps along Minho’s arms.

“Yet, huh,” Minho says, as lightly as he can manage. He shifts his hips, dick flexing against the tight confines of his pants.

“Yet,” Taemin repeats. “Know I could make you loud, hyung.”

Minho’s breath hitches without his permission, the air stuttering in his throat, and Taemin hums so softly it sounds like a purr. “Yeah, c’mon. Can hear you’re gettin’ turned on, hyung.”

“Don’t sound too far behind,” Minho says, rubbing down his hips, stalling.

“I’m not,” Taemin admits. “Had my hand on myself for a bit. Listening to you get all, like… gettin’ you flustered.” His words slur together, voice thick like his tongue’s gone lazy on him.

Suddenly bold, Minho asks, “Got your dick out?”

“Yeah,” Taemin sighs, “just took it out.”

“Oughta get it wet like I said,” Minho mumbles; finally, he curls his hand around his cock through his pants and pyjamas, squeezing lightly to let himself feel the tease of relief. He breathes out a sound that makes Taemin hum right back, encouraging.

“Could teach me how to suck you, yeah? Teach me how to get you off.”

“ _Christ_ ,” Minho breathes, helpless to the thought of it, of Taemin letting him push himself inside his mouth, all warm and wet around him. He squeezes the head of his dick with his free hand, rubbing it harder than the rest, milking out enough pre-come to slick the inside of his pants.

“Yeah?,” Taemin breathes out, panting softly on the line. Minho gets carried away inside his head, thinking of Taemin lying in bed not 50 meters away, of leaving his room and letting himself into Taemin’s and climbing up beside him to have him suck his cock, make him come and swallow the taste of him. It hits him all at once, a wall of images and ideas and consuming thoughts that are overwhelming. All he can do in response is lift his hips and shove his clothes down to his thighs, replacing both hands on his cock as soon as it’s bare and gasping out loud.

“Yes, hyung, let me hear you,” Taemin murmurs. “Wanna hear you come.”

Minho squeezes himself tight at the base while working his hand over the rest of his cock, rubbing roughly at the slit to make himself gasp again for Taemin, just to hear the praise. There’s a sheen of sweat building at his temples and along his entire core, his hips and belly and thighs feeling feverishly overheated as he pulls himself off. He listens for Taemin, moving faster when he catches the quiet rhythm of his panting.

Embarrassingly desperate, Minho says, “Tell me what you’re thinking about,” sucking in a lungful of air to hold inside afterward.

“Fuck, I’m—” Taemin starts, hesitant. There’s long seconds of silence, long enough that Minho begins to get dizzy and lets his breath out in a huff. Taemin mirrors the sound with a sigh and a gasp and says, “Your mouth.”

Feeling his muscles clench, Minho lets himself make another sound; Taemin exhales harshly, the sound filled with static through the phone. “What about it?” Minho manages to breathe out, parting his thighs as much as the clothes stuck around his legs will let him.

“Thinkin’ how I could make you loud,” Taemin says, so lax in his speech that Minho almost strains to understand him. “Could get a coupla fingers in you, fuck you with ‘em til you come like that.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Minho strains. He feels himself getting close, every muscle tensed in anticipation, making it harder to even pull himself off without his biceps straining from the effort.

Taemin latches onto the idea, pushing it, “Want you on your front, Ming, wanna watch my fingers stretch you, yeah? Watch my cock stretch you open?”

His orgasm hits him before he’s fully prepared for it, knocking a whine out of him that makes Taemin groan low in his throat in response. Everything except the sudden rush of blood in Minho’s ears becomes muted for a long minute as he comes across his stomach, thick stripes landing on his bare belly and up onto his top. Taemin sounds as frantic as Minho’s ever heard him when he focuses back in, breathing hard and fast.

“Taemin,” he mumbles, just to say his name, wanting to help talk him off but unable to think fast enough to do it.

“So, so good, fuck,” Taemin slurs, muffled, like maybe he’s talking half into a pillow.

“C’mon,” Minho manages, “gotta hear you now.”

“Yeah,” Taemin sighs, a soft, throaty groan following.

Face burning even as he thinks it, Minho asks, “Still thinking about my mouth, yeah?”

“About makin’ you come,” Taemin says. Hearing him out of control, so breathless and close makes Minho feel like he’ll never calm down, his skin still prickling with heat and cock still hard, sensitive when he gives it a squeeze.

“Made me come just now, baby," Minho tells him, still catching his own breath again. “Just thinking about you.”

Taemin doesn’t say anything back for once, the first time he’s not had a verbal response ready; he just gasps instead, a sudden sound, like it’s surprised him.

“C’mon, 'Minnie,” Minho tries, “my turn to listen to you come. Wanna hear it, too. Never been loud enough for hyung to hear, have you?”

“M’gonna,” Taemin promises, barely a whisper, quiet enough that Minho has to scramble to turn the volume on his phone up with a clean hand.

“Good, yeah, come on,” he encourages, absently rubbing a hand over his chest. His fingertips catch on a nipple and he strokes there instead, purposefully, wanting some kind of stimulation too when Taemin finally goes over the edge.

He comes quietly, just one cut-off groan replaced with silence as he holds his breath. Minho has to fill in the rest with his imagination: Taemin’s hand working fast over his cock that’s gone dark at the tip, shooting up to his chest, ropes of come draped across his narrow hips. Taemin gasps once he lets go of the breath he was holding, moaning out softly through the end of his orgasm.

Minho lifts his head to examine himself in the silence that follows as they process what just happened. The come on his belly is drying and he looks a mess, clothes shoved halfway off, semi-hard dick still nestled in the line of his hip. His phone’s somehow stayed resting just between his ribs, precariously close to a spot of come on his shirt.

“I… almost came on my phone,” Minho says, taking it off his chest and placing it gently next to him on the bed.

Taemin gives him a lazy giggle, clearly exhausted. “Did Jonghyun ever text you back?”

“Shit,” Minho says. He pulls up his messages to check, but there’s nothing new. “Nope. Should I give him a nice ‘thank you’ text? It is mostly his fault this just happened.”

“I’ll do it. I’ll just put thanks and see what he makes of it.”

“Go on, then,” Minho says. He hears Taemin tapping at the phone for a moment, and then the click of it being locked.

“So…” Taemin starts.

“So,” Minho agrees.

“That— wait. He’s sent back you’re welcome with a kiss. Literally didn’t even ask what I’m talking about.”

Affronted, Minho says, “He replied back to you right away but ignored me? Ask why he’s ignoring me.” After another series of taps has stopped, Minho says, “That bastard.”

Almost immediately afterward, Taemin giggles out, “He just said I’m not that loud.”

Minho scoffs so forcefully that it sends him into a coughing fit. Over the sound of himself hacking up a lung, all he can hear is Taemin laughing.


End file.
